Best On The Fly Poems
Some days I feel so damned old
Like my zest is starting to mold
Seems my feet are always cold
My golden years ran out of gold
I'm sitting here on this old swing
Watched the ending of another spring
The birds with their young under wing
The warm gulf winds start to sting
I remember swings used to be fun
We'd jump out and land on the run
All those years chasing the sun
Now those memories are called homespun
And all in the blink of an eye
Young goes to old on the fly
Shake my head and let out a sigh
As a hundred springs pass by
by Daniel Turner
Twas’ by a waterfall quite late,
Beneath the stars, full moon awake,
I saw my tiny love, my Fay,
Upon a mossy bank, she lay;
At first glance, I thought a dragonfly,
Poor thing had died whilst on the fly,
Fell there dead on that cold wet ground,
Until a closer look, bent down;
What I thought a mosquito hawk,
Sent me shivers whilst I gawked,
Arms, two legs, such delicate wings,
With Violet gown laid my undine;
I dare not touch her least she break,
Then realized it was my fate,
To take her home, to mend her there,
My little Fay with golden hair;
I placed her in a matchbox bed,
A cotton ball beneath her head,
Cut blankets from a silken scarf,
And tucked her in with weeping heart;
The days that passed where dreary ones,
For I was worse than faerie dumb,
And cursed myself each pacing night,
Inept to help my fading sprite;
With drooping eyes, and quite depressed,
I felt my heart sink in my chest,
My dear sweet Fay was turning blue,
And there was nothing I could do;
My shoulders shook, my tears were rain,
My love for Fay an aching pain,
I prayed take me, take me instead,
Then little Fay moved in her bed;
Into the air, a dart she flew,
Her wings a blur, no longer blue,
Around my head, she circled twice,
Then out the window, lost to night;
My heart became an empty thing,
Until I heard the buzz of wings,
And saw sweet Fay had spun around
With wand in hand, she shrunk me down;
My clothes are piled on the floor,
Gargantuan garb, which I once wore,
Dear Fay prefers my naked skin,
And woods have spider webs to spin.
Aren't many or any finer than Dan me ol mucker & china who now looks out for nightmare cooks or crooks making money off the books with rare meat on dirty hooks in filthy nooks but don't care want to give him a shiner for saying don't be hasty or cheat prepare pukka tasty tucker & succour...safe fayre to eat for every diner...
Owners booming hysteria at inspector criteria
Kitchens so unclean like a war scene in Liberia
Zooming in you find they're grooming Listeria
Rightly fuming that it is blooming like wisteria
Hardly stellar told fella to have old mortadella
Rank covered in dank mould stank in the cellar
Dan who's a fan of Paul Weller is a fortune teller
Scores on doors stop more spores of Salmonella
Suss some are no faff or fuss a them & us schism
Despairing whiners cuss not caring about criticism
Cleanliness next to Godliness just an anachronism
Foolish witticism as diners get ghoulish botulism
Out of date food they buy deny do things on the fly
Just comply no treason and here’s the reason why
If duff stuff you season on the sly to try and get by
The Council’s the fall guy as folks do die from Ecoli
Hunch lunch or brunch scare dodgy ware of tupper
Owners get shirty but it’s so dirty can’t serve supper
Ask my man Dan this is not a masterplan to scupper
A public sector inspector would rather have a cuppa
I am Florida ,paradise
look around and realise
dreams come true
beneath my skies
azure seas ,a life serene
egrets wade beside the stream
peace surrounds you like a dream
sailfish and the dolphins leap
toward the moon out of the deep
wishing stars will always keep
promises made on the fly
shooting stars in summer skies
kiss your lips and whisper sighs
come to me where seashells sing
tales of abalone wings
bright coquinas,magic things
Seminoles and Everglades
Salofcatchee,healing blade
Chitamico in the shade
I am paradise.
Don't speak to me of summer storms
I rule winter,keep you warm
and you love me for my charm
for I am Paradise.
When I look up at the pristine Colorado sky,
And see flocks of Canadian geese on the fly,
And watch squirrels hide their winter's fare in a secret cache,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!
When the harvest moon graces the sky with its lustrous glow,
And at dawn I see Pikes Peak gleamin' with a dustin' of snow,
And view the golden leaves of aspen trees upon the distant brae,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!
When the old ash tree on my lawn assumes its robe of amber,
Anon, strewin' the lawn with fallin' leaves t'wards late September,
And see golden punkins with a tad of frost at dawnin' of the day,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!
When the nights are cool and I need an extra blanket on the bed,
And note that the robins and all their friends to the south have fled,
And when I see anxious farmers harvestin' taters, corn and hay,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!
When apples are ripe for pickin' (after the worms have had their share),
And I've stored the lawn mower and at last can enjoy my rockin' chair,
And I sense that Old Sol is risin' later and settin' earlier every day,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
I could not paint a better picture,
Than the one in front of me,
Of twists and turns of the canal,
Bordered by endless trees.
A warm day with a slight breeze,
Giving the grass moving shadows of leaves,
Multiple species of birds stop by,
Some on the ground, some in the sky.
Gulls, Terns and Cormorants dive,
For crustaceans and fish of various size,
While sparrows, robins and occasional chickadees,
Grab insects on the fly.
Parades of boats, barges and ships,
Fascinate and entertain our time,
Sitting by the canal is more than a pastime,
It's watching life at its prime.
Fishermen, bicyclists, joggers and tourists,
They enjoy this special place,
Taking it all in; they embrace,
Nature at its purest!
So much growth just passes by
while our hours are on the fly.
Whether we grow and absorb
or miss each sight and single word,
a moment’s entire, total sum
is affected by each passing one.
Time spins people in and out.
Time may whisper, time may shout.
It is not clear on any day
which memory will firmly stay,
which will take us and shake us
or reside as a plus inside us.
What we do, changes us,
what we don’t, also does.
If no day seems brand new
perhaps your changes are too few.
The roadway's blocked with drifts of snow,
by winter winds that howl and blow.
And ominous clouds clot the sky,
beneath a sallow sun's faint glow.
House calls get performed on the fly,
even though I'm no longer spry.
But a country doctor's no good,
unless he is willing to try.
Experience; says that I could,
but first, I'll gather more firewood.
For nights gets cold when it turns black,
and some have frozen where they've stood.
My tired feet plow a winding track
through frozen fields on my way back.
And yet, I'm prouder than they know
of that baby born in a shack.
(Interlocking Rubáiyát)
3/12/2015
#68. MOON WINK
I took a trip for fun,
between the Earth and Sun,
slid quietly between,
the star sun's scarlet sheen,
from its radiant show,
and in it's earthly glow.
I cast misty shadows,
on planet's green meadows,
and people took up hands,
like stretchy rubber bands,
to greet me with great joy,
like a new kite or toy.
Metallic ships went by,
with sunbursts on the fly,
between planet and star,
I'm incredibly far,
I’m always just right here,
with the sun over there.
Your sable shades cloaked earthly eyes,
I heard the awe of your surprise,
I felt a popularity,
of power all had come to see,
I'd be like the great Houdini,
hide the sun and make it teeny.
I blocked the amber sun from view,
and cast dark shadows over you,
a coyote barked a gentle cough,
and Venus slid her blanket off,
the crickets sang, but not for long,
the Sun insisted, I was wrong.
Then out it came with dazzled light,
a Sun cracked smile of spewing fright,
a cheshire grin of searing heat,
red with anger and blind conceit,
he hid from me all Earth's creatures,
with fuzzy dim, blue-green features.
Then, I saw you'd all gone,
with the Sun turned back on,
you loud creatures all clapped,
with my next route well mapped,
for the light had returned,
and my dark magic spurned,
as the lesser soft light,
when you seek me at night.
Then you said you were done,
with your star studded fun,
with cameras and scopes,
and space colored hopes,
a quick jump to that car,
you lost me and the star.
On a soft summer night,
with gold glints of starlight,
look me full in the face,
as I beam from my place,
then, wave long as you think,
what I hid in a wink.
-Edlynn Nau
© August 25, 2017
I listened for the rain,
it emerged slowly now and again
from a crepuscular caliginus sky,
the tenebrous mist that trickled down lightly in the by and by
as if they were drops of salted tears
shed by an unseen entity's fears;
it was the dream that seemed far away
to hover throughout the day
with scattered light cool breezes
beating and flushing the tree leaves into the eaves,
spitting, spewing, snaking, swirling for all to see
stretching just above the distant canopies;
for once the weather predictions were spot on,
it remained overhead for three days within the briar
each day more intense than the prior,
no reprieves as it fell west to east
and cycled back again from the ocean to land to feast
on shorelines, forests and homes as if a wild, relentless beast;
the drops were big and cold
chilled by some northeast winter's scold
quiet then loud drumming on every roof,
streams and puddles formed aloof
into places where footsteps once abound,
the earthy musk odors rising from the ground,
now the lush grass rolled over
patted down the pelted clover
bowing in submission to the stormy drover;
I heard its' tumultuous cry
rocking, pitching while on the fly
without a whisper or a word before it died,
I heard it,
the rain sighed.
Build them wider, taller
let us reach for the sky
when we run out of bird's
we'll clip angels on the fly
90,000 lb. sperm whale
wandering, searching for
his misplaced tail...
but elite global outlets will
never fail....only us commoners
stuck in the dark, our vehicles
needing, only one gear~ Park!
SNOW BIRD
In the dead of winter comes great beauty,
with broody storms and the elegant snow.
The hoarfrost spears hang icy and fluty,
like aliens in guise as they stretch and grow.
Crisp raw are the branches rasping the sky,
as wind comes in a bluster to disturb.
The shadow creatures den under the sigh,
from the deadweight of snow they perturb.
The beauty is sparse and simply at peace,
a waltz in winter that comes on the fly.
The white blizzard storm, we know it will cease,
stopped by the echo of red bird’s soft cry.
Ruby in starlight with ice on his wing,
red bird dreams of Sun and the thaw in spring.
December 5th, 2019
Your Best Sonnet July-December, 2019 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
It's hard being a single parent
Raising children as the only parent
is one of the toughest things in life to do
It is hard enough nurturing a child
under your own gender inclination
But doubly so, trying to rear them
under the other gender too
Being two parents to a child
takes a tremendous amount of effort
It takes a lot patience and understanding too
You know in your heart they need the other parent,
but that's not the card fate dealt to you
You have to learn new things on the fly,
but at the same time you have to let them know
who you are,
what you are,
and in time let them know why
Two-in-one ain't always a bargain,
two-in-one can sometimes be a non-refundable regret
But two-in-one can be a soul changer:
raise 'em right, when they get grown,
they will always remember their debt to you
They will come to know of your sacrifice,
they will respect the cost, honor the price
And when they tell you:
Mother or father, thank you for all that you've done ---
You will have given them as much love or more,
than could have been received in any two-parent home
This poem was written by a terminally ill young girl in a New York Hospital.
It was sent by a medical doctor.
Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight? Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down, don't dance so fast.
Time is short, the music won't last. Do you run through each day on the fly?
When you ask, “How are you?” Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed,
with the next hundred chores running through your head?
You'd better slow down, don't dance so fast.
Time is short, the music won't last.
Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow? and in your haste not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die, cause you never had time
To call and say,'Hi', ...You'd better slow down, don't dance so fast.
Time is short, the music won't last..
When you run so fast to get somewhere you miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day it is like an unopened gift .
Thrown away. Life is not a race, do take it slower, hear the music,
before the song is over.
By: David L. Weatherford
By the looks on the gentlemen's faces
And how the young man in the background- paces
I can just feel, their at one of those places
You all, know...where I mean
In that place, where you just want to scream
In that place, where you just to wake up from a dream
In the fields, their all gathered for prayer
Wives comfort their husbands, in care
As their husbands just sit, and just stare...
At the sky,
Wonderin' why...
As they cry,
And they sigh
Saying "good-bye"
To the guy
On the fly
Back When Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
2.29.2020